Blood of a Vampire
by Andrastre
Summary: The story of a pureblood orphan, protected by a msterious vampire, who ges adopted by a french family, and then goes to Hogwarts, where she discovers more of her mothers past. She's the same year as Ginny, and an original character.
1. Chapter one: Dream

Title: Blood of a Vampire.  
  
Author: Andrastre.  
  
Email: Andrastre@yahoo.co.uk , or Morgaine-Malfoy@excite.com  
  
Rating: PG13 for angst, adoption, Vampires and child beating.  
  
Summary: This is a Hogwarts fic, but not until you get well into the story. Its about a pureblood orphan, protected by a mysterious vampire, who gets adopted by a French family, and then goes to Hogwarts. She's an original character, and is based on the vampire Carmilla, a historical person I found in a book by Manuela Dunn Mascetti. The research for this fic took me ages, so you better appreciate it.  
  
Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter and everything to do with them belong to that goddess, J.K.Rowling. Mircalla of Karnstein is from Manuela Dunn Mascetti's book, "Vampire, The Complete Guide to the World of the Undead". Morgaine, Blanche, their foster, and their real families belong to me, an I'm damn proud!  
  
FEEDBACK! Is very much appreciated, since Constructive Criticism is necessary to develop my poor writing skills!  
  
Chapter 1.  
The TGV train started to slow down, as, over the intercom, a French voice announced that they were approaching Poitiers station. In a first class carriage, a little girl lifted her baby sister up, and started frantically combing her own hair, murmuring admonitions about "being polite, and remember to speak French" to herself.  
Both girls were dressed in black, a black duffel coat tightly fastened, and black Alice band holding back the older girls hair, the baby in a black smock, with black cot blankets. They were in mourning for their parents, Viscountess Penrose who had died four months earlier giving birth to the younger girl, Blanche, and the Viscount, who died of a broken heart two months later. Their lawyer had immediately, in accordance with their fathers will, arranged adoptive parents for the little girls in France, who would be paid a substantial amount for their upkeep.  
The older girl, Morgaine, was eight years old, and already missing the comforting housekeeper of their manor in Ireland. The train stopped, and she stumbled out, dragging her sister and their bags. She stood, bewildered, on the platform, staring round.  
A French guard approached her:  
  
"T'est perdue, petite? Comment tu t'appelles ?"  
  
Morgaine glanced up and, looking down her nose at the man, answered in very correct French-  
  
"Je suis la Comtesse de Karnstein, et je vous suis très obligée, monsieur, mais je n'attends que ma voiture."  
  
He stared down in surprise at the diminutive child, who, despite being half his height, had made him feel like the lowest sort of servant, facing a Queen.  
At that moment, a fat country woman swooped down on the children, and dragged them off to an old, muddy range rover, gabbling in French. The guard stood bemused, trying to remind himself that France, at least, was a Republic, and that he was a grown man, frightened of no one, least of all a child.  
  
* * *  
  
Morgaine stood, leaning against a wall in the playground of the French Collège, lost in thought. Since that day three years ago, she had grown taller, taller in fact than most of the girls in her class. Her skin was waxy white, her features fine and very delicate, and her large eyes, which were so dark a brown as to seem black, and astonishingly sparkling, had been fixed unblinking on the opposite wall for the past ten minutes. Her hair had not been cut for three years, and was unkempt, but tightly tied back. She was unnaturally thin, and her clothes, though clean, were very worn and much too small.  
She was wondering, detatchedly, if she started singing or talking, whether anyone would hear her, or if she had actually disappeared without realising it. Long periods of time spent without interacting with anyone can do that to you, when you're surrounded by people. You begin to feel as if you're someone else, looking out through your own skull, like a window frame, and even to seriously think you're invisible. She worked hard in school, coming top of the class, and had quickly picked up fluent French. Morgaine shifted slightly, moving her back where the scars from yesterdays beating still stood out, livid and painful. Her success in class, however, had hardly helped her make friends. The French kids were slightly in awe, and called her "strange": she was one of the "mad English", obviously dirt poor, adopted, her hair was no colour they'd ever seen before, and her eyes never seemed to blink. She might be a year ahead of herself, being not yet eleven and in sixième, and therefore a year younger than them, but some made the old sign against evil behind her back.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that evening, she moved quietly around the farmhouse kitchen, getting supper, Blanche silently following her- she always watched Blanche herself, when she could. Neither girl spoke, for fear of disturbing their foster mother, playing with her son, the little boy who was the reason for Morgine's beatings, and Blanche's neglect. Monsieur and Madame Sabourin, in despair of ever having children of their own, had adopted the girls, partly for the money, which they invested in their farm, but mostly for extra labour as they grew older. A few weeks later, Madame Sabourin discovered she was pregnant. From then on they bitterly resented the girls presence, and showed it. That evening, after school, Morgaine had already helped Monsieur Sabourin on the farm, and cleaned the house. She would do her homework later on, when the others went to bed. Late that night, then, she sat in the darkened kitchen, working. That day had been the last of the school year, but several teachers had set holiday projects, and besides, she wanted to work, since she saw knowledge as a way of escape from here.  
A knock on the window made her look up from her History textbook, and she crossed the room to open it. A white owl fluttered in, and landed on the table, dropping a letter onto her book. It was drooping with weariness, and she hurried to fetch it some ham from the fridge, which it devoured gratefully, before taking off.  
Morgaine blinked. If it weren't for the letter on the table, she would doubt her own eyes. She opened the envelope, and started to read. The first thing she saw was a letter, in English, informing her that she had a place at somewhere called "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry", and that to go there she should catch a train from Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross station, London, on the first day of the new school year. It was signed by someone called Minerva Mcgonagall, calling herself deputy headmistress. Enclosed was a long list of things which she would, apparently, need to buy before she went there.  
  
She laughed bitterly. If this was someone's idea of a joke, it wasn't funny. Firstly, she lived in France, and her foster parents would never let her go to school in England, much less pay for it, as she supposed someone would have to. Secondly, she was sure there was no "platform 9 ¾ " , and thirdly, she had no money for all that expensive new school stuff. Just for a moment, when she was reading that letter, she had thought she might be allowed back into her parent's world, that world of magic she was forced to leave when, three years ago, the Muggles adopted her. That she might be able to escape from life at the farm, and the local high school. Reality was a bitter disappointment, and she put her head down and cried. After a while, having exhausted her tears, she sat up, and saw a bat, perched on the back of the chair opposite. She grinned wryly.  
  
"I suppose that you, too, have a message for me?"  
  
The bat, with a theatrical flutter of wings, dropped an envelope onto the table.  
  
"Oh. I suppose it wouldn't be any good to say I was joking? No, bit late now, isn't it. Well, thank you."  
  
The bat inclined his head in a courtly manner, and Morgaine reached for the envelope, and opened it.  
  
Dear Morgaine  
You don't know me, but I knew your mother. Use the enclosed train tickets to get to London, and go to a pub called "The Red Goblet". It is marked in red on the map, near to Waterloo station. Be very careful, speak to no one, and go straight to the bar-tender. Tell him that you are Morgaine De la Fee, Countess of Karnstein, and that Garnet sent you. If you have any problems from other people, show them the enclosed note. If you have problems, or questions, ask the man at the Red Goblet, he knows me. Ask him to tell you which streets are safe for you, and which aren't. Do as he says. This should enable you to catch the Hogwarts express at the end of the summer, and to take your rightful place at Hogwarts, as your parents wished, and as they provided for. I'll be watching.  
Garnet.  
  
Enclosed within the letter were a map of London with, as he had promised, the Red Goblet marked in red, and the quickest rout to it from Waterloo, TGV train tickets from Poitiers to Lille -Europe, two Eurostar tickets to Waterloo, and another note. It said, briefly, "The bearer of this note is a pure-blooded witch, under my official protection, to be allowed free circulation. It would be unwise to meddle with her or hers, unless with my express permission." It was signed, again, "Garnet".  
As she perused this, Morgaine's face had been getting steadily more luminous, and when, having read it all, she looked up, it was to give the bat one of the most dazzling smiles he had ever seen.  
Still grinning, she tore off the margin from her book and scribbled a reply.  
  
"Mr. Garnet, Who are you? I remember my mother, when I was very little, said that I was to trust you always, if we ever met. So thank you, a million times, thank you.  
Morgaine DelaFee-Penrose  
  
She gave this to the bat, and carried him carefully to the window, watching until he disappeared into the night. Then she sat down to think.  
  
* *  
*  
  
The next morning, she rose earlier than usual, and with a sense of purpose. Creeping down stairs, so as not to wake anyone, she went straight to the kitchen fireplace, and pulled out two loose bricks, to the left of the mantel. Behind this was a cavity, where Monsieur kept his and his wife's passports, and the girls birth certificates and adoption papers. Morgaine removed these two last mentioned, with a grin of pure wickedness on her face. She was, she reminded herself, holding the Sabourins only legal hold on her and her sister.  
She didn't linger long, however, but skipped outside to the hen huts, where she collected half the eggs, and hid them in the long grass away from the house, then hurried back to bed.  
Later that day she sold the eggs at the market, along with those she had left, and that had been collected after by Madame, keeping the money from the eggs she had stolen, and giving back to the Sabourins only part of the money.  
When she got back from the market, she took Blanche up to their room, and tried to explain things. "Listen, Blanche. Remember what I told you about our Mamma and Daddy in Ireland?" The three-year-old nodded solemnly. "Well, we don't like these French people, and I'm sure they wouldn't have either, and they wanted me to go to a school in England, but Monsieur and Madame won't let me. So we're going to run away, tonight, and I'll take you to England with me. You mustn't tell anyone, but just come when I say, and don't make any noise. OK?" "Will we see Mamma in England?" "No, but we'll see her friends." Blanche nodded, and ran back downstairs. 


	2. Chapter Two: Blood Heritage

Disclaimer: All of Harry Potter still belongs to J. K. Rowling, Morgaine and Blanche still belong to me. Summary: Morgaine and Blanche arrive in England and meet a very strange old man; Who is Garnet? A/N: Sorry updates are so slow. I'm at home, and only have computer access when Dad's out. Also, there is a reason why she didn't go to Beauxbatons, but you don't find that out until later.  
  
Chapter Two.  
  
At Waterloo station, to the sound of a recorded voice- "Mind the Gap"- the EUROSTAR 1597 pulled up. In their first class carriage, Morgaine leaned over the dark head in her lap, her hair falling like a curtain of fire between her sister and the rest of the carriage. She woke Blanche, who had been asleep since half way through the story of Midsummer Nights Dream, as told by her older sister. Morgaine loved Shakespeare, and told the stories to Blanche, simplified, when they had nothing better to do.  
The two girls had left the house at ten o'clock, French time. They walked some of the two hour drive from Chef Boutonne to Poitiers, but drove most of the way with a friendly lorry driver who gave them a lift. The TGV left Poitiers at 12:15, and from Lille they had got the connecting Eurostar, arriving in London at 3 am.  
They stumbled onto the platform, dishevelled and half asleep, and followed the crowd towards the exit. Once outside, Morgaine produced Garnet's map, and, having studied it for a minute, set off down an alley.  
The rout marked took them down side streets and under bridges, through all sorts of unsavoury places. Morgaine, terrified but determined, grasped Blanche's hand firmly and dragged her along, expecting to be set upon at any moment.  
Surprisingly enough, though, nothing happened, and they arrived, twenty minutes later, at a small pub in a neglected square, whose sign depicted a goblet brimming with scarlet liquid. They pushed resolutely on the door, and went in.  
Morgaine's first thought was that there must be a mistake. The place was dimly lit, a large room paved with black marble, and upholstered in red velvet. Red silk curtains hung at the windows. It was busy, as busy as if it had been day, full of tall people in dark clothing who all turned white faces towards the door, stared, and then seemed to sniff the air as the girls entered.  
Sensing the distinctly threatening atmosphere, Morgaine drew herself up to her full height. Her long hair, reflecting the red all around, seemed scarlet rather than black, her dark eyes threw sparks, and she pulled dignity around her with the reminder of who she was, and who her parents had been. She walked resolutely across the now silent room to the bar; Looking up, she said in a clear, carrying voice: "Good evening. I am the Countess of Karnstein, Morgaine De la Fee, and I was sent by Garnet."  
There was an imperceptible sigh around the room, and the figures all seemed to draw back slightly, before returning to their conversations. The bar tender looked down at the girls. "Come this way, if you please." All eyes followed the trio, as they left the room. The man led them across a passage, and into a private parlour.  
No sooner had he closed the door than, to his dismay, the tension and the extra effort to appear fearless in the bar took their toll, and Morgaine keeled over in a dead faint. She lay on the floor, her white face pillowed by thick black hair. Blanche cried out, and dropped to her knees by her sister. It took the capable manager, however, no time at all to revive Morgaine, and quiet her sister. He soon had her sitting on a sofa, Blanche next to her, apologising for the inconvenience. "Never mind, there's no harm so long as you're better now. Right then, young lady. I didn't want to talk out there, with the whole pub listening. Glad to see you got here safely, not that I doubted it, with Garnets protection. He's booked a room for you, and he said for me to give you this." The man handed Morgaine a small green sack, like the one her mother used to wear at her waist. Now that she had time to look, she saw that he was very old, a little wizened old man with pale skin and white hair. "That was a performance and a half in the bar, if you don't mind my saying so. Extraordinary like your Mother, you look, dear." The old man started to lead the way up a flight of stairs, carpeted in red, without for a moment abating his chatter. " And I'm sure it's a great pleasure to have your mother's daughters in the house again after all these years, even if you're not exactly one of us, so to speak. By the way, Garnet said you were to tell me where you're going, tomorrow morning, if you leave this place. I'm sure I needn't remind you to be extra quiet in the mornings, being as how you'll be getting up at the self-same hour most of my customers are retiring to bed for the day." By this time, they had arrived in front of a door, which he flung open. "This is it, the very same room your mother used the first time she came here. The bathroom's through there- I hope everything's to your liking, dears. Call me if it isn't. Oh, and remember to lock the door. Goodnight." With this their host departed, leaving them alone. The room was well proportioned, decorated, like the lower floor, in red. There was a great four-poster bed, with scarlet hangings. A fire blazed in the hearth, on either side of which were set two armchairs. Morgaine collapsed into one of these, stunned by the man's ruthless eloquence. Between the two chairs was a table, on which was set a meal for two. The girls ate hungrily, their first food for twelve hours. After that, Morgaine, remembering the man's warning, went over and locked the door, slipping the key under the pillows on the bed. She then dragged the armchair she had sat in over, and wedged it behind the door.  
Having done this, she woke the protesting Blanche, and dragged her into the bathroom, where both girls proceeded to wash hands and face, and to brush their teeth with brushes which Morgaine produced from her pocket. The Sabourin household had never laid much store by cleanliness, a fact which disgusted Morgaine, and she had always been careful never to descend to their level, especially where hygiene was concerned  
They then stripped, having brought no night clothes, and tumbled, exhausted, into the big bed. Blanch fell asleep immediately, but Morgaine lay awake, going over in her mind everything the host had told them.  
She thought, confusedly, of customers who slept during the day, drank nothing but red wine, and seemed to sniff the air when one walked in. It took a while for her tired brain to make the connection, but she concluded, in the end, that they were all either eccentrics or vampires, and felt uncommon glad of the locked door. That would also, she reflected, explain their marked predilection for red and black.  
She thought of a mysterious person whose name was not a name but a stone, and who knew her mother. Who seemed, for no more reason than that, bent on seeing that she reached Hogwarts, and whose "name" had scared a whole room of vampires into letting her pass unscathed.  
Finally, and longest, she thought of her mother. Her mother who had been known, and respected, by their host, whose name still commanded respect from the vampires downstairs. Who had slept in this very room, a long time ago. Who had been, apparently, very close to the one called Garnet, that he would do all this for her memory. Who she remembered, but vaguely, as an impetuous, voluptuous presence, a musical voice, a cascade of black hair with a hint of fire, and an unfamiliar, rusty, spicy smell.  
Thinking of this, she drifted off, and never knew that she cried out for her mother in her sleep, or that the tears rolled down her cheeks, and soaked the pillows, although many of the customers paused outside her door, hearing a name that hadn't been uttered there for 11 years. 


	3. Chapter Three: Little Red

Disclaimer: If I owned Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, there would be a lot more interesting shops and bars in Diagon Alley, and Draco Malfoy would be so much more important, get all the best lines, and he and badgirl! Ginny would already be together. But I don't, J.K does.  
  
Rating: PG13 for bad language, death threats, alcohol and Slytherinness.  
  
Summary: Quick tempered Italian boys, redheads, shopping, family history and family mysteries.  
  
Chapter Three: Little Red.  
  
  
The girls slept late the next morning, finally waking at about ten o'clock. They got up, bathed in the luxurious green bathroom, and ate a leisurely breakfast brought up to them on a tray by the host, whose name, they discovered, was Monsieur Vidame- a French name which had, so far as they could discover, nothing to do with his nationality. He was an unobtrusive little man, who said nothing until he thought you would let him. When he was sure of this, however, he chattered non-stop, as if to make up for his earlier restraint. He had clearly adored the girls mother, and greatly "compassioned" them for having lived with "them frogs".  
After breakfast, having discovered that the green bag given them last night was actually a purse full of wizarding money, they set out to visit Diagon Alley. Their most pressing need being for clothes and toiletries, they planned the trip accordingly. First they visited Perdita's Potions, Diagon Alley, where Morgaine was ecstatic to discover a hundred and one cosmetic and beauty potions, along with toiletries that adapted themselves magically to her hair and skin type. It was the first time she'd used toiletries bought especially with her in mind- at the Sabourin's, it was soap and water.  
Next, the girls went, on Vidame's recommendation, to Gladrags, where a seamstress gave Morgaine her immediate attention, discussing fashions and colours with her. She was delighted when Morgaine ordered her and her sisters clothes, made to measure, all in one of the shops most expensive materials, a dark red for her, and white for Blanche.  
Next to her in the fitting room, was a tall, dark boy, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, being fitted for dress robes in a dark green. After shooting a few curious glances out of the corners of his eyes, he spoke.  
"So, Little Red, what's with the colour scheme?" He drawled. "And how come I don't recognise you? You're not from Hogwarts, and you're not an English Pureblood. I know ALL the pure-blooded families in England."  
Morgaine tilted her chin, and smiled slightly, as if amused by his ignorance. "Well, you don't know this pure blood. You should know my name though: De La Fee-Penrose. I like red, and so did my mother." She said, assuming a slight French accent. His eyes flashed, and he laughed, showing white teeth in a tanned face. "Whoa there, Little Red. Don't bite me. Now I know why you're not at Hogwarts. By all counts, you couldn't be old enough, if your parents are who I think they are. "  
"No, well done, I'm not old enough, and my parents were the ones you heard of. Your intellect is impressive- no, really. I'm surprised to find you so well informed of Wizarding history. Who are you, anyway?"  
The boy stared at her, astounded. "Zabini, of course. Blaise Zabini. Everyone knows me." "Oh, a firebrand, then. Any relation to the Zabinis of Florence?" That was nothing more than a shrewd guess, based on a niggling half memory at the back of her mind. Something Mama once said about Florence. "I'm Morgaine, by the way, and this is my sister, Blanche." The boy grinned. "They're my cousins. I see I'm not the only one who knows all about wizarding heraldry. That explains the white, but you should be wearing sea green, not red." Morgaine frowned. "Why sea green? Like I said, red is my mothers colour."  
The boy looked glad to know more than her, at last. "Morgaine, or Morganna originally, is Celtic. It means Woman from the Sea. So, you should wear the colour of the sea. That colour would really suit you, anyway. Green's also good because both your parents were Slytherin, same as me. When will you start there- I suppose you aim for our house, too?"  
This was a lot of astonishing information to take in all at once, but Morgaine was damned if she'd let him see her surprise. What in hell or on earth was Slytherin, had her parents really been there, and what were the houses? Come to that, how did she know if he was telling the truth, or just testing her? And why, oh saints above, a Celtic name, for the sea?  
She laughed to cover her confusion, and said: "Tell me something I don't know, Firebrand. As for my age, you ought to know it, with your Oh-so- vaunted-knowledge of pure blood families. Why should I help you out?"  
Zabini was obviously irritated- Morgaine noticed that he was as quick to anger as amusement, and bad at hiding it. She reflected that she would need friends at Hogwarts, and a Zabini could be an important ally.  
He scowled. "Because I can make Hogwarts very uncomfortable for those I don't like, and because you'll need an older person to stand for you, in Slytherin. Not that I care, anyway." She laughed, replying mockingly: "Oh no, I'm sooo scared, Firebrand. Plenty of people will speak for me- my bloods better than yours."  
Blaise just gaped. No one had ever been this insolent to him. Everyone respected Zabini's influence, hardly anyone could claim better blood than his, and no one, no one, had ever given him a nickname.  
While they had been talking, the seamstresses had been moving round them, and now both were finished. Morgaine skipped to the counter to pay for the two new sets of robes with an evil little grin on her face, slipping ahead of him.  
"I'm hungry, so I have to go and eat now. Nice meeting you, Firebrand. Oh, and you might want to shut your mouth and pay for that robe- the girl's waiting."  
Zabini jumped, and paid for the robes, thoughtfully. That girl was definitely different- and he couldn't have her being that insolent to him at school, she was younger than him, and he had a reputation to keep up. Better get on her good side. Besides, he was curious. Why could she afford such confidence? It couldn't be due to blood alone.  
He left the shop, and, just catching sight of her disappearing down the street, hurried after her. *** A confusing number of twists, turns and sinister side streets later, Blaise found himself in Scarlet Soirée Square, which was not exactly known for white magic, watching the girls disappear into the Red Goblet. He hesitated, unsure. Not that he was afraid of most Death Eater hide-outs, or dark magic dens, but even a Zabini thought twice before entering the highest class Vampire hotel in London. He was curious, though, and damn if those little girls could go where he dared not. He squared his shoulders, and went in.  
There were no customers in the dimly lit place, except Morgaine and Blanche, sitting at a table near the back. Blaise slid into the seat opposite them.  
"Hello again, fancy meeting you here," he joked. "Can I get you a drink?" Morgaine gave an admirably realistic start of surprise. "A Firebrand indeed, then, but isn't it a bit rash even by your standards, coming here? Don't you value your blood?"  
"Ah, not as much as I value your company, sweetheart. Besides, is it just me, or is this place even more dangerous for little you?"  
"I think you'll find that no vampire or daemon will touch us, Firebrand. In fact, you're only still here now because I recognised you. As to why, that's another mystery that even I only know the answer to in part, and I won't tell you what I do know- I'd really rather not."  
Just then Vidame appeared at Morgaine's side. "What'll it be, madam? And should I dispose of the young man? Who is he, anyway? Someone said I was to watch who you talked to, and there's some customers as smelt him already."  
"Really, Vidame, you'll do nothing of the sort. He's. an acquaintance, and his family knew mine. I hope your protection, and common civility, at least, extends to my friends?"  
Vidame, rebuked, nodded silently, and slipped a deprecating look towards Blaise. That young man, recovering from his shock, took control. "An orange juice for the little girl, a Bloody Mary for mademoiselle, and I'll have a pastice. Jump to it, man."  
The bar man left, and Blaise raised an inquiring eyebrow at Morgaine. "That was certainly impressive, Sea-spume, and I'm honoured to hear that I now rank as a friend."  
"Well, I wasn't sure if they'd exempt you from custom for being my stalker, and I don't want a death laid at my door- so tiresome."  
He grinned. "Touché, well done. So I owe you my life. Well, if such a humiliating contingency had to happen, at least the girl I owe it to is beautiful. Let me try to repay my debt- come and stay with my family for a week or so, before term starts. Even our house is more suitable for a well- bred young girl than the most notorious vampire den in London."  
  
* * *  
  
Morgaine gave no definite answer, saying she'd think about it. She wanted to find out more about his family, and about what he had told her earlier. She also intended to ask Vidame's advice, and, through him, Garnet's. Blaise left after his drink, arranging to meet them for an answer at Florean Fortesque's the day after next.  
That afternoon, after a good lunch, Morgaine set out with Vidame's instructions to find Flourish and Blots, where she intended to buy a book about Hogwarts, one about Slytherin, and another that could tell her about the Wizarding Families of Europe.  
***  
  
It was while she was craning her head up to see the top shelves that, rounding a corner suddenly, she walked straight into another girl. They both squealed, and landed on the floor in a tangle of long legs, arms and hair, books on top of them.  
Morgaine stared for a moment at the stranger sprawled on top of her, and burst out laughing. The other girl joined in, and they both lay there, giggling hysterically, until an irate shop assistant picked them up, and rated them soundly for the disturbance.  
"So sorry." They started to say, both at once, and broke off, laughing again. "Hi, I'm Morgaine Penrose, who are you?" Morgaine said, bending to help the girl pick up her books.  
"Ginny, Ginny Weasley. Sorry about that. What house are you in?  
" I'm not yet- I start at Hogwarts this term." Morgaine smiled, shyly.  
Ginny looked surprised. "Really? I thought you were older than that, you're very tall for a first year." "Yes, but then so are you, aren't you." Morgaine grinned. She liked this girl, with her shy smile and loud laugh, her long legs, and the fiery hair that cascaded down her back. "I was just looking for 'Hogwarts, a History'- I want to know something about the place before I go there."  
"Oh, its just over here", Ginny replied. "My older brother, Bill, said he'd buy me a new book, 'cos I get so bored at home, sometimes. I'm the only girl, with loads of older brothers."  
Morgaine looked sympathetic. "You poor thing. I always wanted a brother, but not too many. Thanks." She took the book down from the shelf, and Ginny turned to go.  
"I have to go now, Bill's waiting. Nice meeting you, Morgaine. See you at school."  
Morgaine paid for her books- "Hogwarts, a History", "Wizarding Families of the West", and "Signs of a Slytherin"- and went back to the Goblet, to talk with Vidame. 


	4. Chapter Four: co Garnet

Elementals.  
  
Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling owns all of Hogwarts, etc. My actual savings amount to 1euro 35 cents, so anyone trying to sue me has to be out of their mind.  
  
Rating: PG13 for language, blood prejudice, evil pens and Death Eaters.  
  
Summary: Ginny and Storm explain some stuff, a binding contract is signed, and four girls unite in the cause of equal rights for witches!  
  
Chapter Seven: contracts and interior decoration.  
  
Storm took them down a long, low passage-way, dripping with slime and illuminated by nothing but their own wands. The girls followed, grumbling about the mess of mud on their robes, until she stopped in front of an arched silver door. She tapped the door with her wand, and turned back to grin at them.  
"Fifteen different password charms, sweethearts, so have patience." She started muttering at the door, and, a good ten minutes later, it swung open.  
The room inside was long, with a high domed roof, silver wallpaper, a large fireplace, and innumerable chairs. It was lit by a strange green glow, and around the roof fluttered hundreds of green and silver butterflys.  
Katherine flopped onto a chair, and gestured to the others to seat themselves. She giggled at their astonished expressions.  
"This is my office, girls. It used to be an old classroom, but I think it got forgotten after about 1066, and I've been decorating it myself. Anyway, point is, I thought we ought to tell Willow and Frost. Ginny can start with her part- listen carefully, girls."  
"Oh, er, OK," Ginny glanced round nervously. "Remember in first year, when the Chamber was opened? That was me."  
"You what?!" Willow was staring.  
"Err, yeah. We were shopping for books in Diagon alley, and Draco's darling father got into a fight with my old Dad, during which he slipped an old book into my stuff. It was Riddles diary. He used Dark magic to imbue the diary with part of his soul, kind of like the sorting hat. So when I wrote in it, he wrote back."  
Frost laughed. "So, lets get this straight. You were pen palls with Tom Riddle? The Tom Riddle who became the Dark Lord?"  
"Yeah, or more like a memory of Riddle. Anyway, the point is, I'm not the heir of Slytherin, Tom is. He just used me. A memory doesn't have a body, so he possesed mine. Then, you all know he took me down to the Chamber, and Heroic Harry came and rescued me. But Tom told me all about himself, and I was able to research him afterwards. He's a mudblood. His father was a muggle, who deserted his mother when he found out she was a witch. She died, and the Dark Lord spent the first eleven years of his life in a crummy muggle orphanage. He opened the Chamber when he and Lucius were in school, he's Slytherins heir, and Harry is Gryffindors heir. Slytherin and Gryffindor were cousins, so those two are related." Flame had said all that as quickly as possible, without pausing for breath. Now it was over, and she'd told them, she sighed in relief. The secret was out.  
Frost was definetely upset now. "So you're telling me that that blood-prejudiced bastard is a mudblood himself? Bloody burning hellfire and eternal excruciating damnation! Why are we following him, then?"  
Katherine grinned. "Well, personally, Anima dear, I'm not following him anymore, as of about last night."  
"Hear hear! The cat's among the pixies for poor Tom now," said Frost with a grin. "We can't know this and not tell other people- I wonder how long it'll take for him to lose half his followers?"  
Willow frowned. "We have to be careful, though. And organised. After all, we can't just run around announcing unproven things about the Dark Lord. I, for one, don't want people thinking I'm crazy, and besides that we'll find out alot more about both Potters and Toms plans if we keep quiet."  
"Well, we already told Malfoy." Katherine looked guilty and a little pleading. "But we think he believed us. But there's more. You haven't heard my part yet."  
The others grinned. "OK, we're listening."  
"Right. The Potter boy's right- the Dark Lord is back. I don't know his exact plans, but he needs to destroy Heroic Harry first of all, and that involves the Department of Mysteries. The Death Eaters have been recalled- they suffered for deserting him, but they're back where their true loyalty lies now. The Dementors'll be ours- er, I mean theirs- soon, and then Bellatrix and the others will return, so we haven't got long. Tom gets his information through an extensive spy network. Only those at the top end even know they're reporting to Tom, so lots of innocent witches and wizards are involved. But the Death Eaters in charge of information are led by Narcissa Malfoy. They call it-" Storm paused, stealing herself. "They call it The Moonlight, because their agents are meant to disappear like moonlight on a clouded night. I think they actually got the idea when Montague said Narcissa's hair was like beams of moonlight. He was less than sober aat the time." Strom giggled shakily.  
"Anyway, remember Professor Enshaw's been away lately? Malfoy told Ginny the Moonlight got her."  
"Officially, Profesor Quint S. Enshaw was ill today, angel. But...well, lets just say the moonlight got her. I believe the moonlight disagreed with her, and that can be very painful." Ginny murmured dreamily, with a small smile.  
"Malfoy called you angel?! Flame, you already have half the boys in school at your feet. Don't add Malfoy, it'd be too depressing for the rest of us." Frost exclaimed with a comical look.  
Willow, however, was not to be distracted from the essential point. "I knew lots of Ministry officials are spying for Tom, I just didn't know the name of the organisation, or theDeath Eaters in charge. Who else is there?"  
"Lucius Malfoy, of course, Zabini, Goyle, and Dolores Umbridge are the Death Eaters at the head of things. Of course, after that there's loads of people working under them, some of whom know it's for Tom, and some of whom don't."  
Flame had by this time recovered from her abstraction. "Funny the way you've all picked up the habit of calling him Tom from me. Its a lot less risky- he might be aware when people say his title, but he doesn't listen for his old name any more. And it shows where loyalty lies- after all, he's not our lord, is he."  
"How do you know what he listens for, and what he's aware of?" Frost asked, curiously.  
"I don't know, really. But he feels it when someone says his name, and so do I, to a lesser extent. Bit like Harry. I mean, Harry and Tom are connected by a failed curse. But I've actually had him inside me."  
Storm giggled. "Flame, dear, that sounds so dodgy! I don't suppose you ever did?"  
Ginny shook her head. "No. I wouldn't mind now, though- he really is one of the best looking boys you ever saw. It'd be nice to have him as my first. Ah well, no use crying over spilt potion, or missed oportunities. But he's got charisma, and this odd sort of charm. I know why people who knew him as a boy follow him. "  
Willow looked surprised. "What, you mean you've never...?"  
Flame shook her head again. "What do you think my future, anonymous but extremely pure-blood husband'll say if I'm not a virgin? For me, its not a question of sex before marriage, or marriage first. Its no sex before marriage, or there'll be no marriage. I can't take that risk."  
The other girls could all understand this- they had much the same problem. But Storm frowned. "Well, you came very near to chosing no marriage last night with Malfoy, dear. Lucky I saw you- what happened, anyway?"  
Flame suppressed a shudder at the memory, whether of fear or pleasure she couldn't say. "I was drunk, all right, that's all. It was nothing. Anyway, I thought we were discussing Riddle?"  
"So, we've established that he's back, that its safest to call him Tom, and that we're all against him. We know the name of his spy organisation, and which ministry officials to watch." Susan Bones, aka Willow, was, characteristically, coming straight to the point. "We know that The Moonlight has got Professor Enshaw, but we don't know why. I think we should get our aims straight, and swear some sort of an oath. That way we'll know we can trust each other, and we won't be able to let things slide. First of all, we need to find out what Enshaw knew, and get her back. We can't leave people in ignorance of what we know, so the next thing is to start an information campaign. But it'll have to be very subtle, because we're all well placed for spying on both camps- no one needs to blow their cover right now."  
"Hey, hey, slow down!!" Frost had, as always, started paying proper attention only just in time. "Have we even agreed we want to fight Tom, yet? I mean, sure, I don't want any mudblood ordering me around, but I'm not too keen on Potty boy, either."  
"No one said we were for Heroic Harry. We just happen to have one thing in common with his group- the fact that we're both against Riddle. But I have no intention of submitting to Pottys rule either- we just form a third group: purebloods against mudbloods, both Tom and Harry. Only we get rid of Tom first." Flame was flushed, grinning. It had never occured to her, until just now, that there could be any but the two options. She was definetely liking her new idea, though.  
Willow nodded. "So we cooperate with Potty until Tom's gone, and then go from there. I could do that. Also, has it occured to you that both other groups are led each by a single person, and that those two people are wizards? We, on the other hand, represent the democratic distribution of power, and equal rights for witches!"  
"Hear hear!!" Storm waved her arms in wild approval. "Lets draw up a contract!" She produced parchment, and an ancient looking black quill.  
"The quill belonged to my grandmother," she explained."It cuts into your fingers where you hold it, and uses your own blood instead of ink. Grandmère Duprée always made sure all her contracts were signed with it. They're twice as binding that way, and even more so for a pure-blood than a half-blood, so I'd watch what you do, girls. I believe there's some highly individual curses on it." So Frost drew up the contract, with clamorous contributions and corrections from the others, and Flame was the first to sign. (See contract here.)  
While Willow whipped up a simple healing unguent over the fire, the girls gossiped and chattered.  
"So anyway, Storm, are you sure the school rules allow you to appropriate a classroom for your own purposes, never mind redecorate it?" Ginny asked, grinning.  
"Oh, Flitwick said it was OK," Katherine said, with an airy wave of her hand. "You know I'm in that Charms club of his? Well, my speciality is actually interior decoration, so I told him I needed a room to practise."  
They all laughed- little Professor Flitwick could always be depended on to fall for anything.  
"Remember the time we told him you had artheritis?" Frost continued, giggling at Ginny. "I think Malfoy still holds it against me that I made Flitwick believe it, and got you out of trouble."  
Storm raised her eyebrows. "Not judging from the way he looked this morning, he doesn't. He couldn't keep his eyes off a certain Gryffindor who wears very skimpy underrobes." Ginny felt a tell-tale blush creeping up from the neck of her robes.  
"Well, whatever he thought before, he won't want to know me now. You were really rude to him, Storm."  
Storm grinned. "My poor little innocent, the entire female population of Hogwarts fancies him, and he knows it. If you want him, you have to get his attention, prove you're different. Besides which, I'm not the one who said his hair looked greasy."  
Flame shrugged. "Well, he threw my family in my face. I can't help being related to muggle-loving tramps, can I?"  
Anima had been listening to this exchange with sparkling eyes. "But tell, girls, tell me all! How come you two were sitting outside in your under robes at that time, anyway? Always assuming, of course, that it wasn't an ambush."  
This last earned her indignant glares from both girls, but it was Storm who answered.  
"We were talking till late last night, so I just slept in Ginnys bed. Not with her, you pervert!" she added, seeing Frosts amused look. "I had to leave dorm early before the Gryffindor vestals woke up, and we still needed to talk. Filch was patrolling, so we thought our best bet for privacy was the gardens. Thats all."  
Just then, Willow declared that the healing unguent was ready, and after they had plastered their fingers with it, Storm used deceptive charms, so that the cuts would be invisible. They left one at a time, and went up to lunch with their respective houses.  
All, that is, except Ginny.  
  
A/N: Hope that wasn't too boring, and that the explanation parts were clear, and I didn't miss any essential points. Also, I tried to clear things up a bit for Morgain Lestrage. Is that any less confusing? 


	5. Chapter five: Locator

Disclaimer : Hogwarts, Potter, Blaise, and even the divine Draco, with all things related, belong to J.K.   
  
Summary: Madame de Sancé is found, three people return to England, and an interesting conversation by the fireside.  
  
Rating: PG13 for language, death and insanity.  
  
Chapter Five: Locator.  
  
  
  
One hour and a helluva lot of research later, Blaise, Morgaine and Angélique were sat in a circle on Ange's bedroom floor, attempting a locator charm. In the middle of the circle, incongruously, sat a hairbrush and a photograph of Madam de Sancé.  
  
"OK, after three." Blaise was extremely doubtful that a twelve year old and two eleven year olds would achieve any kind of result, but there was no harm in trying. "One, two, three."  
  
"Locator!" they shouted, with a swish and flick of three wands, and their left hands placed firmly on the brush. Morgaine felt a surge of energy in her wand arm, a jerk somewhere in the small of her back, and then emptiness before and behind her, with the others banging at her sides as they moved.  
  
Three children landed with a bump on the hard pavement by the banks of the Seine. A few feet away, a woman stood silently watching the river, a brooding look on her face. The day suited her mood- it was grey, overcast, and the scent of thunder hovered over steely waters. As the kids jumped to their feet and looked wildly around, she kissed the toddler she held, sat him on a bench, and walked to the edge.  
  
"Maman! Maman, chérie!" Ange exclaimed, running towards her. The woman turned to stare for a minute, and then deliberately stepped over the edge into the water. There was a splash and a few seconds silence.  
  
Ange screamed and sprang for the bank, but Blaise was before her. He had kicked off his shoes and dived under, closely followed by the two girls. The water was three times as cold as it seemed from the bank.  
  
Five minutes, suspended in time and seeming like forever, a tangle of thrashing limbs and billowing robes in the liquid ice. Then, somehow, the two girls had got an arm each, and Blaise was heaving the three up onto the bank, scrambling up after. They lay there for a minute, soaked and bruised, too exhausted to move.  
  
* * *  
  
It was lucky for Ange she had Morgaine and Blaise there- the funeral hadn't been exactly fun, with all the scandal inevitable in refined French wizarding circles. Even though they had passed the death off as "accidental", in order to assure Madame de Sancé a place in the family graveyard.  
  
Blaise and Ange had got over the first embarrasment, and learned to get on well together. After all, there are some things you just can't go through together without becoming close friends, and rescuing a suicide from the Seine is one of them.  
  
Monsieur de Sancé had put them up, although with definite implications that he considered it blackmail, that had offened Blaise considerably. The evening after the funeral, the three escaped as soon as was seemly from the reception downstairs, and Blaise heaved Ange's trunk into the fireplace while she scribbled a note for her father.  
  
"I'll go first", Morgaine announced stepping foreward, "Blaise can't exactly deal with the immigration wizards and carry the trunk."   
  
"What do you mean, I can't? Course I can." Blaise's delicate masculine ego had been damaged by that. "You've only ever used the floo once before."  
  
"I'm a quick learner", Morgaine grinned, and promptly disappeared up the chimney.  
  
They did, indeed, arrive safely in the Zabini house not long after, although Blaise had some acid comments, and Ange some amused ones to make on Morgaine's shameless methods of dealing with customs.  
  
"Does it matter whether I'm modest?" she replied composedly, "the point is, they won't remember whether we had passports or not. They're still arguing about which one of them I meant."   
  
The Zabini parents, vague but generally pleased to have guestsof pure blood, didn't even seem to notice the addition to their household.  
  
The three spent much of the night sat on the floor, talking.  
  
"Remember the sleep-over we had for my birthday?" Ange giggled, "and the time we turned fathers hair pink?"  
  
Morgaine splutterd. "His face, when he looked in the mirror! Ahh...! And remember the time we frightened everyone at midnight mass by dressing up as the ghost of your illustrious aunt Sophie?!" She turned to Blaise. "We found her clothes in the attick, and then all we had to do was look up a disillusionment charm. Ange appeared as her out of thin air, ran about crying for a bit, and then just vanished."  
  
Blaise sat silent, the light from the fire flickering over his aquiline features as he watched the girls with a little half smile.   
  
"Its very strange," he remarked after a while, "that you two should have managed a disillusionment charm at that age. Or, indeed, that we should have been able to work the locator spell. You do realise that those are both advanced magic- most people don't manage them till sixth year at least."  
  
Morgaine stared for a moment, and then laughed. "Really? Well, I can't wait to get to Hogwarts and see what the teachers there think of me. Maybe they'll be able to say which one of us is paranormal. It's not you, is it, Blaise?"  
  
That young man groaned humourously and shook his head. "I wish, maybe then I'd have more skill at Transfiguration! By the way, Ange, what are you planning to do? Term starts soon."  
  
"I know. I'd really like to go to Hogwarts, and stay with you two. But the family has always studied at Beauxbatons. Patriotism and all that. Its a cursed nuisense of yours not to be French, Morganne cherie. I'll send off an application to Beauxbatons first thing tomorrow."  
  
"Bit late for applying, isn't it?" Blaise remarked curiously.  
  
Ange and Morgaine glanced at each other.  
  
"Yes, well, that was the trouble with Mother, you see." Ange spoke with difficulty. "I rely on you not to spread this, of course, Blaise. It'd cause the devil of a scandal, you know. I expect you gathered that mother was rather depressed. She, er, she tended to blame this on her school time at Beauxbatons, and swore me and Raymond would go there over her dead body. He used to laugh at her. Told her she was insane, and that having married into this family she could obey its head. That was what all the rows were about, mostly, and thats why my application hasn't been sent off yet."  
  
"I see, that'd be why your father was so reluctant to display common civility to us." Blaise ahd obviously not forgotten that insult. "Well look, you're welcome to stay here 'till the answer comes, if you'd rather not go home. Pity you can't come to Hogwarts, it'd have been amusing to introduce you both there. You two make almost as delightful a contrast as me and Draco."  
  
This, physically, was quite true. The picture Blaise had been watching as they sat there was one of contrasts. Morgaines red-brown wavy mane mingling with Ange's staight honey coloured hair. Ange's tanned skin, sparkling green eyes, quick gestures and gamine appearance setting off Morgaines white complexion, deep brown-black shining eyes and the languid, almost sensuous way of moving which Mrs Zabini said she had inherited from her mother.  
  
"Oooh, tell!" Ange grinned. "Who is this Draco who provides so admirable a foil for our vain friend?"  
  
"Another boy in Slytherin house. You'll be meeting him soon, Morgaine, and I think you'll like him. He has conciderable influence on our year. As you say, Ange, he's admirable. As blond as I am dark, and we seem to agree tolerably on most subjects."  
  
Morgaine shook her head. "I don't care so much for blond boys. But I can see the two of you together would be rather striking."  
  
Just then, a House-elf appeared. "If you please, sir, madams," it murmured with a respectful bob, "Mistress says it's getting on for two AM, and that there's no need for Miss Delafee to keep the hours her mother did." It disappeared.  
  
"Argh!" Morgaine exclaimed. "Everybody referring continually to my mother, but nobody will tell me anything about her. It's not dignified to have other people know more than I do."  
  
Blaise smiled. "Well, Amante, we could always find out. Here, if it pleases you, I, Blaise Zabini, do hereby solemnly swear to lend all my aid in discovering whatever mysterious secret there is to dicover." Ange agreed, and, Morgaine being somewhat pacified by their promises, they went to bed. 


End file.
